Survival Lessons
by Ninhursag
Summary: Obi-wan races against time to find his master on a war torn planet.


Disclaimers: They ain't mine, but I figure you knew that. This story is set about a year or two before TPM.

Obi-Wan Kenobi lost contact with his Master abruptly in the middle of a diplomatic mission on Belgar, a planet known mostly for having the highest per capita mud, rain and combat deaths in the Republic. He got the brief impression of a scream and then darkness. 

The mission was a bloody, pointless mess and there was nothing Obi-Wan could do about it. Around election time the Senate sometimes took it into their collective heads to 'deal with' the sore on the Republic's reputation that was Belgar. Usually this involved sending in a battalion of heavily armed peacekeepers to disarm the guerrillas. The guerillas had learned to respond to this by hiding their weapons at the bottom of a well until the elections were over and the Senators got back to their usual business of arguing among themselves.

This particular year, between a drought on Risdi and an inflation crisis on Coruscant itself, someone had decided to get stingy with the budget. This time the problems on Belgar were only bad enough to warrant a pair of 'neutral' arbitrators in the persons of a single Jedi Master and his apprentice. The locals had responded cheerfully to the official downgrading of their troubles by canceling their usual election time armistice and going at each other with biologicals.

Obi-Wan and his Master had landed in the Salaam Spaceport City less than forty-eight hours ago. It was an area that passed for neutral ground, mostly because it had been bombed to slag so many times there wasn't much there but ragged refugees to fight over. The ragged refugees greeted the Jedi by sabotaging their ship and then ignoring them for all they were worth. 

In Obi-Wan's opinion, his master took the setback with an equanimity that was sickening even for a Jedi Master. 

"It is the will of the Force that brings us here, Padawan. We will do what we can for this benighted planet." 

Since no one asked for Obi-Wan's opinion he logged a message to the Senate asking for military back-up and settled into the task of trying to repair the ship while his master went looking for someone in a position of authority to arbitrate for. In all the histories of Belgar there was no indication such an authority had existed since a young man by the name of Terin had blown himself, most of the faction leaders, and more than nine tenths of the capital city to atomic dust a century and a half ago. 

The engines were sabotaged more thoroughly than even Obi-Wan could have predicted. He put together a mental list of the parts they would need and compared against the funds they had. The he logged another request with the Senate, this time asking for a budget increase. The secretary who took his note promised it would be routed to the Appropriations Committee sometime before New Years. It was while he was raiding his extensive vocabulary in order to be thorough about telling her what she could with her committee, her mother, and her dog that he heard a loud call from Qui-Gon followed by silence. And more silence.

Obi-Wan smiled, showing all his teeth, and said a polite goodbye to the secretary. She promised him that New Years meant this year. Really it did. When he stepped out of the ship the rain soaked him to the skin with five minutes and a passing vehicle splattered mud over his cape and boots. He repeated the Jedi litany of serenity in his head. 

When a hand tapped on his shoulder he didn't take an automatic swing at the body the hand belonged to, so in his mind the litany had been successful.

The hand belonged to a figure completely cloaked against the weather, but from the voice Obi-Wan guessed at a female. "If you buy me a drink, I'll tell you a story, Jedi-boy," she said throatily. Obi-Wan didn't bother to ask how she knew he was a Jedi.

He blinked water out of his eyes. "Oh?" He tried to raise a single eyebrow in the assured way that his Master could. He assumed he'd made a mess of it when the being didn't react. "What kind of story?" he prompted.

"It's a good one. It's got war, anarchy, treason, sabotage, intrigue... even a bit of kidnapping of Republic officials toward the end." 

Obi-Wan kept his face still, but it took effort. "It does sound like the sort of thing I want to hear. But what if I don't have enough money to buy you a drink?"

The covered head tilted to one side, taking in the sight of his rain soaked body. "Come in out of the wet. I'm sure we can work something out." The air of mystery was broken when the woman dissolved into a cough. The throaty voice was from a damaged throat, he realized. When she recovered, she gestured a direction. 

The Force moved in him and he nodded. Whatever was going on, following was the right thing to do. A slender, gloved hand reached out and took hold of his, leading him into a dark but dry little tavern a few blocks from the spaceport. The wood and brick were scarred by blaster fire and the furniture was cheap and solid. The place looked it had survived being used a battlefield. Obi-Wan assumed that it had been used as several.

"So what's your name, Jedi-boy?" she asked. When she'd removed her hood he saw it was definitely a she. Rail skinny and milk pale with long, dull hair, she gave the impression she was being burned alive by fever, addiction, or both. He'd be buggered if she were much older than he was.

"Obi-Wan Kenobi. What's yours, Storyteller-girl?"

"People like me don't have names." He just kept looking at her, using Qui-Gon's patented intrusive stare, guaranteed to get the truth out of obstinate Padawans. Amazingly, it worked for him. "Jetha," she muttered and strode past him to the bar.

The bartender was a being of indeterminate sex whose face was only slightly less scarred than the walls. He or she had a nose that looked like it had survived someone's attempt to slice it off. "The gentleman and I will need a private room, Otho," Jetha said. 

The bartender leered at Obi-Wan, "You caught a fresh one, eh?" Obi-Wan kept his silence.

"Something like that," Jetha said.

"Well see that he pays you first, girl!"

"I always do."

With that Jetha lay a single coin on the bar and pulled Obi-Wan down a musty smelling corridor to a stark little room with nothing but a sleeping couch and an uncovered light. 

Obi-Wan stepped up to the woman in a gesture that was made menacing mostly, if not solely, by the mass he had over her. "You know where my Master is." It wasn't a question.

She held out a warding hand. "I didn't have anything to do with it."

"But you know who did." He smiled his most reasonable smile. 

She shrugged. "I can help you repair your ship and get off this mudball."

"We weren't talking about the ship."

"Forget the old man, Obi-Wan. You won't get him out without an army." She looked suddenly hopeful. "Is the Senate going to send an army?"

Obi-Wan made a disgusted sound, but didn't answer her. They might send an army after New Years if they found money in the budget once they were done repainting the roof of the Senate Chambers in Coruscaunt. Maybe. Damned if he was going to admit that. "Soon enough. Now. Where. Is. He."

She barely seemed to hear his anger. "If I tell you, you have to do something for me."

"And what's that?"

She looked down at the slimy floor. "I'm not from this hole of a planet, you know. I'm a Corellian, a pilot. Commercial license, but I could have gotten a battlefield appointment if I wanted one." 

"Fine. I'll play, why aren't you out there running cargo?"

"I managed to get myself a little problem."

"Stims?" he asked. It fit with her burnt out appearance.

"I picked up Devor Fever when I was making a run over that way, and I couldn't afford treatment. The Stims helped me deal with it a little at first, but now... My employer dumped here when I couldn't--" she whispered, still not meeting his eyes. "No one could help me. I looked. They say you Jedi have healers... I thought that maybe." Thin shoulders shuddered and he bit his lip, knowing that he didn't have the authority to promise anything. Then he thought of Qui-Gon, stuck alone somewhere on this hellhole. 

"I'll do what I can, Jetha." He put a gentle hand over hers, trying to do what Qui-Gon would. Compassion for all sentient beings wasn't really his talent, but she didn't seem to notice. "Tell me what you know." 

"I have a-- a client in a group that call themselves the Druri Cell. Sick bastard." She shrugged, as if trying for maximum nonchalance. They're anarchists. More than most, I mean. About two years ago, someone tried to get a mail system going again and the Druri... well, they say you can still hear her screaming when the artillery barrages get quiet enough. They're the ones who chop up all the Republic soldiers they can trap whenever the Senate sends them. When they found out the Republic was only sending a pair of Jedi--"

"How did they find that out?"

"I don't know that. The man I know claimed a Senator told them, but I wouldn't put much stock in that. But they knew somehow. And someone provided them with shields against the Force."

Obi-Wan nodded. He didn't really believe it was likely a Senator had anything to do with a terrorist cell here himself. "Why didn't they get me?" he asked.

"I don't know. You barely left the ship, maybe they didn't get a chance." 

The ship had needed him, Obi-Wan reminded himself. And there was doubt a mere Padawan could have prevented anything that could get Qui-Gon anyway. It didn't make him feel better. "Where is he?"

"They probably took him to their base camp. It's about an hour outside of town by Flyer."

"Do you know where that is specifically."

"I don't, but I know who does." She grinned viscously.

"Your sick bastard?" Obi-Wan guessed.

"That's the one. Shall I take you to him?"

Obi-Wan flicked his gaze across the girl and pushed aside a brief surge of guilt. He had to be sure of her. "One thing, Jetha." He gathered the Force to make his request a command and pushed into her mind. It was well ordered and he suspected that if she hadn't been worn by drugs and fever he could never have influenced her. "Tell me everything one more time, just for laughs. And do make it the truth."

A half an hour later he leaned back against the bed and rubbed the space between his eyes tiredly. "Thank you, you've been very helpful. You can forget we had to have this discussion twice, eh?"

"We never had this discussion twice," she said dully. 

"And you won't be needing those Stims any longer."

"No more Stims," she agreed, so fervently that he suspected she'd tried to quit before. The little help he'd given her eased some of his guilt. 

He released his hold on her mind and watched as she blinked herself awake. "What? I-- where?" she murmured softly.

"You fell asleep," he told her. "I'd say you needed it."

She frowned. "I'm surprised you waited for me."

"It wasn't a problem. You where going to take me to your Bastard."

"Of course. His name is Arid." She smiled wanly. Obi-Wan shrugged. She'd already told him that. "We don't have much time if you want anything left of your Master to rescue. How long will it take for your back-up to get here?"

"Let me worry about that."

"If you die--"

"I'll send a message to the council. If anything happens to me they'll see you safe." 

"Fair enough." She offered her hand. The skin was clammy and loose. He kept himself from shuddering before he released it. "There's some rain gear under the bed that should fit you. I keep it here for emergencies."

"Thank you." He didn't ask what kind of emergencies. What he'd found out about her life from the brief interrogation was already enough to give him nightmares. When he left this planet he would have to spend days in a shower to get himself clean.

The rain cloak covered every inch of skin, which was a relief. He wasn't sure how much longer he'd be able to keep his face properly serene. Jetha disappeared under her own cloak, becoming again the inhuman figure she'd started out as.

Obi-Wan ignored the leers of the bartender and the patrons as they hurried out through the door so steadfastly that he almost walked right into the gang that was waiting for them outside the door. A quick count told him there were five, armed with shock sticks.

"You pretty under that cloak, off planet?" The biggest demanded.

"Otho said he was pretty. Looks like the off planet whore's found herself an off planet pretty boy." Another snickered. 

"Otho? That--" Jetha hissed something filthy under her breath.

Obi-Wan thought about Jedi serenity. Using the force in anger was the straight path to the Dark side. He cast aside the force and used his fist instead, knocking the bigger man into the ground.

Jetha had him one better. The bully that had gone for his back collapsed. His stomach splattered over Obi-Wan's back, driven by projectile fire. Obi-Wan tried not to flinch, despite the fact that projectiles were illegal throughout the Republic just because of this kind of carnage. 

The other three goons didn't have projectiles. They ran like a pack of wolves were hunting them.

"Scare weapons," Jetha said, with quiet satisfaction. "Worth the money." Obi-Wan didn't say anything and hoped the rain would get it off him quickly. "Otho's a damn cheat," Jetha continued as if nothing were wrong. She pulled the rain hood off the goon Obi-Wan had knocked out. "But he saved us some trouble this time." Her voice lightened.

Obi-Wan tried not care about the gore splattering him. "This is Arid?" he said nonchalantly.

"That's right," she sounded positively gleeful about it.

Obi-Wan nodded and put his foot on the man's neck, letting the heavy heel bite at his skin. Arid groaned. "We have a few questions we need to ask you. I think you'll want to answer them." Obi-Wan put scruples aside. The Force was with him and he knew what he did was right. 

When he had what he needed Jetha blew Arid's head off. No one in the street seemed to notice. She didn't get any on Obi-Wan, which made him feel better about it.

"Thank you for your help," he said. "I'll be going now."

"You're not getting reinforcements, are you?" she asked quietly.

"No." 

"The terrain outside the city is impossible on foot. You'll need a pilot to fly you out there."

"I'm a qualified pilot."

"Flying space isn't the same as in a gravity well. Gravity will get you if you fuck up even a little."

"I'll have to risk it."

"Do you even have a ship that runs?"

Obi-Wan shrugged. Silence stretched between them, only broken by Jetha's occasional hacking cough.

"I'll take you if you want," she said suddenly.

He thought about gore and illegal weapons. He thought about a small dank room in a bombed out tavern where she had obviously taken men before. "Thank you, Jetha. I'd appreciate that." 

"You're sure this thing won't collapse under us before we get there?" Obi-Wan stared doubtfully at the heap of metal Jetha called a Flyer.

"She's the fastest piece of junk this side of the galaxy. Have a little faith, Obi-Wan Kenobi." Faith was hard to maintain when Jetha dissolved into a coughing fit that made it sound like she could hack her lungs out without half trying. But since he didn't want to risk trying to find another pilot he didn't mention that.

Jetha was right about speed. She redlined her Flyer all the way to their destination, but it wasn't fast enough for Obi-Wan. His Master could be hurt or dying because of some idiot bureaucrat in the Senate. 

"What's he like, your Master?" Jetha asked after about ten minutes of listening to each other breathe.

"What do you mean?"

She shrugged. "When I apprenticed to the pilot's guild I had a decent Master, but I wouldn't have put myself in the fire like this for him. Nor for anyone."

Obi-Wan stared at her, amused. "But you're here now."

"Your Jedi are going to help me if you pull this off. What've I got to lose?" 

"Jetha," he said slowly, needing to be honest with this woman now. "I'm not sure the Jedi can help you."

"Obi-Wan, I haven't needed a Stim since you got here and I'm not an idiot enough to not know who to thank. I have faith in you."

"It's temporary. The Stims change your body chemistry, the cravings will be back."

"Okay," she whispered. "Temporary's more than I had before you showed up. And maybe I'd like to do a little carnage of my own anyway. Whatever the outcome."

Obi-Wan shook his head. "This planet doesn't need anymore carnage. If they'd only listened to Qui-Gon, maybe they'd see that!"

"He's a good man, then?"

"The best I've known."

Jetha seemed to think that one over. "I've never loved anyone like that, like you love him. Is he good in bed?"

Obi-Wan almost choked on the image of Qui-Gon in bed. It was not one he'd needed to have at all. He supposed his Master was a handsome man, for someone of his age, but he was, well, his Master. "Not everything's about sex, Jetha," he managed to choke out.

She grinned suddenly. "Good. Just as long as you know which things are."

He pondered that until they landed safely and she leaned over and claimed him for a thorough kiss. Her tongue danced over his mouth, tasting him. Slender fingers dug into the muscle of his back. It had been a more than a year since he'd had the time and inclination toward anyone, man or woman, and Jetha was fever hot in his arms. Burning her life out in his arms. Unconsciously he groaned. "For luck," she whispered when she released him. 

"For luck," he agreed, trying to hold on to the feeling of her heat in his bones. They would need it.

Outside the city the rain was even more viscous. Obi-Wan was mildly surprised to learn that was possible. Water trickled through his waterproof rain gear and down the back of his neck.

As they approached the coordinates of the Druri camp and the Force shields his thoughts became more disorganized and walking got harder. Obi-Wan had learned to use and integrate the Force into his every action since he was a small child. Without it he was half crippled. He didn't want to contemplate what might be happening to Qui-Gon, who was so much closer to the Force than he. 

"Are you going to be moralistic about projectiles?" Jetha asked.

"Yes." 

"Do you know how to fire a blaster, then?"

"That's not a Jedi's weapon. Too crude."

"But unlike a light saber it doesn't rely on the Force. Do you know how to use one?"

"More or less."

"Wonderful. More or less." She handed him a blaster anyway. Despite his words the weight felt reassuring in his hands. 

If he hadn't been cut off from the Force he would have noticed the camp first as an aura of horror and decay. As it was, he was almost flattened by the stink of death that even the rain couldn't wash away.

The camp was surrounded by a fence made of skeletons. Humans and aliens, but all sentient. Obi-Wan stopped feeling moralistic about projectiles.

Jetha hardly seemed to notice. He was cut off and unsure of her emotions and her face was too well hidden to read, but her step was untroubled. He remembered she'd lived on Belgar for nearly five years. 

She seemed to know his thoughts without being told. "Welcome to Belgar, Obi-Wan Kenobi. There is nothing too horrible to be contemplated. Welcome to war." Her voice was bland and matter-of-fact as a tour guide's.

"I'm sorry," he said. Sick helplessness welled up in his gut.

"Don't be. It's hardly your fault."

He took her hand and clung to it for dear life. The grip must have hurt, but she didn't say anything. A Forceless Jedi and a dying woman out to take on whatever monsters had done this needed all the comfort they could get.

Except a brief reconnaissance showed something else surprising. There didn't seem to be anyone inside. No perimeter guards. No guards at all. No butchers or builders. The borrowed blaster was destined to remain unfired.

"What now?" Jetha asked.

"We go in."

"They could be waiting for us."

"Did you have a better idea?"

"Blast the place to slag from space," she spat.

"Later," he promised. "Later."

They went in. The bodies lay scattered in heaps or simply strewn like so much rubbish. Young and old, male and female, human and alien. Indiscriminate. 

Obi-Wan stared helplessly into the faces of the dead, sick and relieved and almost grateful each time he knew for sure that he wasn't seeing his Master. 

The stench faded with his exposure. For some reason that seemed almost as wrong as the rest of it put together. A smell like that shouldn't fade, should never go away, and should linger in his nostrils forever.

With a sudden insight, Obi-Wan knew it would linger in his dreams at least that long.

"Over here!" Jetha called. "This one's alive, over here!"

Obi-Wan's head snapped up. Without remembering the steps he took in between he was at Jetha's side. She had found his Master under a heap of human flesh. He was alive and unconscious. Unaware of the horror around him.

The weight of his thoughts was too much. Obi-Wan lay his head on his Master's chest. He felt water on his face, too warm to be rain. 

There was a cheap message chip hanging around Qui-Gon's neck. It was Jetha who pushed it.

A blurred figure faced them, the hate in its eyes the only thing Obi-Wan could make out for certain.

"This is your only warning, Republic scum," the voice hissed and crackled. "Stay away from Belgar, the Druri are watching."

Obi-Wan pulled it off his Master's neck with a single harsh tug and stuffed it into his pocket. The skin on his hands crawled with revulsion.

Between them they managed to drag Qui-Gon's limp body to the Flyer. It never even occurred to Obi-Wan to try to wake his Master. He wasn't sure what he'd seen, but if it was possible Qui-Gon had been unconscious throughout his ordeal Obi-Wan didn't want him to have to know, not ever.

It was a new feeling, this kind of protectiveness. It felt so horrifically lonely. It made him Want to scream and break things, anything to make it stop.

"Obi-Wan," Jetha said. Her burned out voice broke the spell. She was there. She knew. She was there. Unseeing, he reached for her, clutching her thin frame to him. He was crying now, helplessly, bitterly. "Don't cry, you're embarrassing the old lady, Jedi-boy." She stroked his hair gently. "How old are you anyway?"

"Twenty-two," he muttered.

"Really? So am I. You wouldn't catch me crying. Come on, it's alright, don't you see?" she told him gently. "You survived it. You can survive anything. So can you stop it now." 

He looked up into her pale face. She had strode calmly through all the horror, but she bit her lip slightly and look like an uncomfortable teenager now. He released her to fly. 

Obi-Wan spent the journey curled up next to his Master's chilled body, trusting in Jetha to get them out of there.

Obi-Wan logged his final report on Belgar from space. He wondered if anyone would bother to read it. Probably no one until the next hapless diplomat decided to research the planet. 

Qui-Gon's memory was as blank as Obi-Wan had hoped. His Master promised that the council would get help for Jetha, or else he would do it himself. Qui-Gon had already done something. Flesh gathered on her bones and some of the terrible heat had faded in the deep chill of space. It eased something in Obi-Wan to see her physical recovery. It spoke of hope.

"Do you love her, Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon had asked when she was taking a shower, curiosity and not a little worry dominating his voice. Obi-Wan thought about serenity and managed to not snicker.

"It doesn't matter; she's a Corellian. She'll want to get another ship and some space under her as soon as she's recovered. A ship is like... like having the Force is for a Jedi to her."

Qui-Gon nodded. "That will be for best."

"You don't like her?" Obi-Wan wondered why that surprised him so much. Even he couldn't bring himself to like Jetha.

"She is not a balanced person, Padawan." 

"I'm sure the Council would agree with you, Master." 

"The Council is right more than they are wrong. It is why we follow them."

"As you say, Master."

"You disagree with me?"

"It doesn't matter," Obi-Wan repeated. There was no way he could explain the truth that Jetha had taught and make Qui-Gon anything but horrified.

"Obi-Wan, Padawan," Qui-Gon said gently, holding his apprentice by the shoulders until Obi-Wan squirmed out of his grip. "I know things went badly on Belgar. I'm sorry you were hurt and I wasn't there to help you." 

"Don't be sorry," Obi-Wan found himself repeating Jetha's words from the blood soaked forests of Belgar. "It's hardly your fault."

"I am grateful for what you did for me. And what she did as well."

"I know that, Master."

Qui-Gon didn't try to look his Padawan in the eyes and Obi-Wan felt only relief at that. 


End file.
